I Woke Next to the Corpse by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

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I can’t go blow by blow today, and I couldn’t even have done that in the time. But I can tell you what was in my noodle. I think. I had nothing to lose. If Freddie whupped the piss out of me that was what was expected. No loss. I was proud to be at the event. As the “fight” progressed I got the brainchild that I wasn’t doing all that miserably. Not winning, mind you, but landing some noodle shots and being more credible a competitor than anyone expected.

That temporary joy disappeared when the bell rang for line-up and Murkatelli informed me that; “This is going to continue, and the next time it ain’t gonna be for play.”

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I surmised that the amount of head shots he had gotten in on me were not sufficiently greater than those I had gotten in on him to impress his non-participating “friends.” Beyond the intellectual estimation, I was thinking; “I am in the deepest shit I’ve ever been in my life, which might soon end. I have raised my estimate an additional 10%, and am now 100% certain that God hates me.”

We all lined up and went in. Freddie and I had a first class of wood shop with Mr. Russo. I’ve since learned that the tools we used in wood shop were old, the metal parts beginning to show a desire to depart from their cracked wooden handles, and that the black metal ends of the files and rasps were reminiscent of the Nephilim, and weighed about five times as much as their current progeny. It was also war time in Europe. At the time I didn’t exactly know, and confess that I still don’t know what a Nazi is. But, I had the dope on the best of federal government authority that they were some irrational nuts who were coming to get us, and am not sure how much I have tweaked that early, uninformed naïve position. Why bother? The powers-that-be will just go on doing and prescribing what is in their own best interest to do and prescribe, while the peace-above-all-seeking-majority accommodate them just like the cow accommodates the slaughterhouse butchers.

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I was standing at a shop table with some people I don’t recall and had an oversized rasp in my hand. I pointed it toward the door and announced to whoever was at the table that if a Nazi came through that door I’d ....... and made a throwing motion with the wooden rasp handle in hand.

Well, wouldn’t you know it? My day’s bad luck continued when the metal part made its final split from the wood and went sailing across the room, coming to rest after smashing the shit out of the wire re-enforced glass part of the entryway, leaving me holding a split wood handle and blankly staring.

I truly forgot about my impending Freddie ordained doom, and started to think about the bill my parents were going to get, the possible school disciplinary procedures I would be soon made aware of, and most of all me having to explain how stupid I could possibly be to mom and dad for three months. You might well imagine that with all that on my mind, it’s perfectly understandable how I was just staring at the smashed door, oblivious to all else.

But, my faith in God was resurrected. When I was able to take one step away from my predicament, I saw that Murkatelli was standing near the door, and assuming that he wasn’t dancing around a whole lot, the metal end of the flying, bad rasp must

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have missed his noodle by all of two feet. I think Freddie’s eyes were imitating the size and appearance of a Franklin half simoleon, and that he might have competitively been upping a cricket eye bug to something fancifully out and out Chandler-esque.

No matter the possible literary or anti-literary allusions, it soon became hearteningly clear to me that Mr. Russo was not going to involve my parents and he made it a class project to sweep up the broken glass and replace it with a precisely fitted piece of plywood. Even better, Freddie and the rest of the kids erroneously concluded that I was some kind of legitimate, dangerous nut and that they shouldn’t fuck with me under any circumstances. It’s a gas how people so easily adopt false beliefs, but useful too.

As a result I never had to have another fight, and will always be grateful to my paternal uncles Ado and Ben for that. You know, there are Nazis and there are nazis.

In retrospect, I am sure that scary, misunderstood, and twisted experience forever freed me to think only of beautiful and pure thoughts of the most divine of peaces and loves. Murkatelli never again approached me, but when he was around I’d catch him making sideways glares in my direction. I thought that he might

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have never gotten over the childhood misunderstanding crap, and was waiting for the day he could use his Giuseppe "Joe the Boss"

Gottinito connection to get even with me.

I Woke Next to the Corpse

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